


"Why Do I Want to Fuck a Mattress Salesman?"

by I_Will_Survive



Series: Evak Vignettes [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: (Pretty Isak Too!), Fluff, I've Never Been to a Mattress World in Norway Before, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nervous Isak, Pretty Even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Will_Survive/pseuds/I_Will_Survive
Summary: Isak, midway through moving into Eskild's "fabulous" guest-bedroom, discovers that he needs to buy his own mattress. Apparently, a guest-bedroom doesn't necessarily include a bed. And, for better or for worse, one charismatic young mattress salesman is determined that Isak's going to need a bed that can handle "a lot more than sleeping".Why, indeed, does he want to fuck a mattress salesman?





	"Why Do I Want to Fuck a Mattress Salesman?"

Eskild could have been a conman in a past life, Isak’s sure. Offering someone a guest-bedroom necessarily implies there’s actually a bed in the room, right? He shouldn’t have to search high and low for some shitty bundle of chicken feathers and rusted springs held together by glue and luck. He shouldn’t have to spend his entire evening checking out what perfect mixture of “uncomfortable” and “cheap” make the ideal mattress. Moreover, he shouldn’t have sold his mattress to Magnus, of all fucking people, who’s surely by now tainted its precious foam with enough semen to captain a ship.

“It’s fucking ridiculous, Jonas,” he grumbles into his phone. “Eskild is sleeping on a queen-size fit for kings, and I’ve spent the last three days sleeping on a tarp. I thought I was buying a bedroom, no, I wasn’t; I really bought a campsite with wall sockets.”

“Yes, Isak,” Jonas entertains him. “Everything is terrible. Life is awful. Your problems are the worst.”

“Piss off.”

“‘Thank you, Jonas’,” Jonas mocks, imitating Isak, “‘for being the greatest friend in Norway and probably the whole world and listening to my angsty teenage bullshit. Sober.’”

“Okay,” Isak starts, readying to yell, “you know fucking what, Jonas?!”

“Um,” another guy pokes in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but is there anything I can help you find, sir?”

“Fuck”, Isak stammers. He’s blinking rapidly as he hangs up on a confused Jonas, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Is everything alright?” the mattress salesman asks, apparently completely unaware of both his attractiveness and how embarrassed Isak feels. Normally, Isak prides himself on being the least cringe-worthy member of his family (and peer-group) when in public. His mother’s Bipolar I had encouraged her to share her well-developed theories on “Atlantean Persistence” and “The Importance of Pooping Every Four Hours” with anyone who would listen. Magnus and Jonas, meanwhile, never had any qualms about discussing the pros and cons of “lizard sex versus snake fucking” in the middle of a public library. While Isak was there. Trying, in vain, to remain completely unperturbed by the unfiltered confidence of those closest to him.

But Isak, Isak stayed timid in public for a reason. He never wanted to give people the wrong impression of him, really, so he often gave people no impression of him and all. And now, here’s an attractive specimen walking right up to him, and the first impression he’s giving is ‘I’m a depressed thirteen-year old girl with no life and lots of anger issues”

“Yes!” Isak feigns, “everything’s fine.” Ja. Everything’s fine. I mean, seeming like an insensitive dick on the phone to the male incarnation of Aphrodite himself is completely normal for Isak. Wanting to fuck a mattress salesman—and bombing entirely in front of said salesman—is totally fine. Yep. Ja. Totally.

“Are you sure?” the salesman whose name-tag reads “Even” inquires softly. “It’s not everyday you see a cute, defenseless little blonde boy shout ‘fuck’ into his phone in your mattress store.”

“Hahaha, yeah, sorry. Kind of a weird day for me. Basically, all I need is a fucking mattress,” Isak brushes off.

Wait, Isak stops for a second. Cute. Cute. CUTE. Cute? Really? Did Even, the totally fuckable fulltime employee of Mattress World, just call him ‘cute’? And what kind of cute does he mean? ‘Peppa the Pig is cute,’ Isak reasons, ‘but certainly not someone who you’d like to skullfuck against a wall anytime soon.’ Isak, in all realness, is probably just a Peppa Pig sort of ‘cute’ to Even, if he’s being honest to himself. He shouldn’t assume the mattress man’s sexuality or interests based off of one innocuous comment. 

“Well,” Even starts, “if you need any help finding ‘a fucking mattress’ then, I can certainly help!” The golden-haired Adonis of Mattress World is grinning ferociously. “Dude, c’mon! Let’s go!” Even grabs Isak by the hand before the small blond boy can react to the bloodrush of physical contact; Then, Isak is off, pulled through aisles and aisles of product by Even’s raw energy and enthusiasm for mattresses. 

“Really!” Isak says, “it’s quite alright! I can find the type of mattress I’m looking for without needing that much help, and I don’t wanna bother you, man!”

“No, it’s my pleasure!” Even galvanizes. “Plus, I have a slow day, and this’ll be a fun trip to head on! Here, we’re almost there. This way!”

At this point, Isak seals his lips into a firm smile. Even looks like a little kid launching into some imaginary adventure—with his big smile and wide eyes and quick sneakered pace—he’s the captain of a pirate ship launching away from the shore, and Isak’s happy to go along for the ride. Still, he’s wondering how much deeper into the store they can go; He feels like he’s lost in a labyrinth of mattresses by now. Pink mattresses and purple mattresses, white ones and blue ones whizzing past them at a breakneck pace, it’s a beautiful blur.

Suddenly, they stop off just before a partitioned room in the back. “Here we are!” Even smirks. “Okay, I know it might be a little cheesier than what you’re looking for, but I think it’ll be perfect!”

They slip into the extra mattress room, and Isak’s astonished. The partitioned off room is made to look like a whole bedroom in and of itself—two windows reveal the silhouette of starlit trees outside. The bed, in the shape of a large heart, wears white sheets and baby blue blankets and pillowcases. A lamp exhales warm orange light between the left window and the bedside, and a set of silver windchimes clink just outside of the right window. 

“Wow, this is really something!” Isak stutters out.

“Isn’t it? Now this here isn’t just a mattress—it’s a bachelor’s pad. This is the kind of bed that screams, ‘Have sex on me!’”

“Excuse me?!?!” Isak gulps, like he’d just spit out water in surprise. “Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude! It’s is really nice and everything, but it's not really what I’m looking for.”

“Sir…” Even stepped over to the bed, turned over toward Isak, and sled back onto it. “You asked for ‘a Fucking Mattress’. Like a mattress for fucking, right?” he smirks, leaning further back into the softness of the furniture. “You wanted a FUCKING mattress!!! Haha, did I misinterpret things?”

Isak giggles, smiling widely at Even’s smartass, cocky, ridiculous attitude. Is this the first impression that this guy is fine giving? Apparently. And Isak’s—crazy enough—is attracted to it. He’s infatuated with a guy who's honest enough with himself to display his flirty, stupid sense of humor right on the front page. And when Even smiles, his eyes light up, and on some level, Isak feels himself break free—because Even’s putting himself out there, and he doesn’t care about being too corny or too open or too human.

“What?!” Even asks, chuckling, “is this not what you were looking for, sir?”

“Haha,” Isak intones, sitting down onto the bed with Even beside him. “Sir’s a little, um, formal. Call me, Isak.”

“Will do, buck.” 

“Haha, about the bed, anyways… it’s really soft! I’m loving it. It’s just not, y’know, really what I’m looking for. Or, haha, to all that in my price range.”

“Huh,” Even sits up, now so much closer to Isak, and he’s peering in with his big aqua eyes, pupils dilated to the rims, and Isak’s breath catches, because he’s been staring at Even more often than he’s stared at his phone in the past year. “You don’t want a bed for, y’know…” Even trails off, “scratching that timeless itch with your partner?”

Isak gulps. “Ahaha, well, I don’t really have a ‘partner’ for that right now. And, um…” Isak stares deeper into Even’s eyes and something stills in his throat.

Time stalls. Even blinks, in bits, waiting for Isak to finish what he’s saying. When it’s clear that Isak’s voice is out-of-commission for the moment, Even finally jumps back in, never breaking eye-contact. “Yknow, I’m the manager of this store and the builder of special exhibit rooms like these. Um…” Even’s train of thought halts for a second. Is it nervousness? Isak wonders. 

“So,” Even starts in again, diluted eyes sparkling with little thoughts of gold—of adventure and realness and fact and fiction, “You and I, by now, are the last two people in this store. And, I'm the one locking up. So, what do you say to a sleepover at your local Mattress World?” he grins—this dumb, huge grin.

“A sleepover?” Isak throws himself back onto the bed, laughing. “Of course, you want us to have a sleepover. Couldn't you get fired for that?”  
“It'd be worth it. Besides,” Even says, “it's not like we’re going to be doing _too_ much sleeping anyhow.”

“Ha!” Isak quips. “Like I’d ever sleep with you.”

Even flips back, beside Isak, stares into him again, and chuckles, “Wouldn’t you, though?”

The next day, Eskild’s jaw drops to the ground when Isak’s new stack of soft, fluffy mattresses flounce into his bedroom. When Eskild asks, of course, ‘How in hell did you get these mattresses, Isak?’, Isak just smirks—that same smirk that dorky mattress salesman wears—and responds, ‘I got a really sweet deal last night. His name’s Even.’


End file.
